Contradictions, Chapter 7

Freed

by

Veronica Rich

"Long time ago, 'twas a woman named Siobhan Shaugnessy. Men thought her the prettiest thing living, and women were intimidated by her. They didn't necessarily wan' be like her, but most had a healthy enough respect for th' damage th' lovely Miss Shaugnessy could do with only a look or a few syllables."

Jack settled himself further, taking up a cross-legged seat on deck. He noted with some pleasure out of the corner of his vision that nearby crewmen slowed their work to listen. He did love being the center of attention, never mind that he was only trying to make a point to stubborn Will Turner.

"The lovely Siobhan had few suitors, for there weren' enough men who felt up to th' challenge of trying to capture her attention." Will paused and gave him a dry, skeptical look that made Jack clear his throat. "Or, could be they thought her a bit too spirited. Rather reminds one of another hardheaded lass of both our acquaintance.

"At any rate, when she and your father met, she was no more impressed with ol' Bill Turner than she'd been with any of his predecessors. Right soured her, he did, treatin' her like a lady an' such—tossin' his coat over puddles, offering to defend her honor, shite like that. Unnecessary tomfoolery, ye ask me.

"I knew all this because Bill wrote t' me often, detailing his woe at th' likelihood he'd e'er have a chance to sit down and impress your mum properly. Th' hell of it was she carried on like a highborn lady instead of the washerwoman she made her living as—" Here, Jack paused and leaned forward, dropping his voice to a stage whisper between himself and the still-working blacksmith. "And I think that's really what set off th' hens around her, ye want me opinion."

Will sighed without looking up. "Perhaps there is a point to this, Captain?"

There will be once I poke you in the arse with a stick, you don't start conversing with me in a normal fashion again. It was uncharitable, but Will had been all stiff like this for the better part of the three months they'd been back on the Black Pearl, and Jack was getting damn right sick of it. "Don't all my tales have a point?" he retorted, then sallied forth to forestall more insouciance, to the light chuckling of those around the two men. "Short of it was, Siobhan wouldn' give Bill the time of day until he finally got past treatin' her like some highfalutin' doll. He had to practically arm-wrestle her in a tavern just for the privilege of buyin' her a proper supper and holding a conversation, and this was almost a year after they first met."

Will glanced over, and for the briefest moment there was a flash in his eyes. "You wanting to arm-wrestle, Captain Sparrow?" The smith made a subtle show of transferring his hammer from one hand to the other, flexing the bicep of the arm closest to Jack.

Jack decided to bait him. "Depends—you offerin' to have me whelps, too?"

He'd hoped it would draw a snort of laughter from the young man, maybe a long-suffering roll of those hazel eyes. Instead, Will ground his jaw and turned his attention back to work, even as those around them tittered. "Ah, well," Jack philosophized, lifting his knees to place his booted feet against the boards and rocking forward to stand in an abbreviated motion. "Someday I might even get t' tell ye how Bill came up with the arm-wrestlin' idea. I'm wagering whatever your mum told ye doesn't have that in there."

Turning in a rustle of peplum and sash, Jack crossed to the poop deck, trotting up the short flight of steps and gliding close to his first mate, holding the helm steady in the calm weather. Anamaria's navigational skills were excellent, and her strategizing was invaluable, but Jack knew enough to take her off wheel duty if the sea was anything less than compliant with Pearl's rudder. "Getting' tired yet, love?"

"Doing fine, Captain." She spoke in clipped tones that were more a result of concentration than impatience with him. Then, she grinned, but kept her eyes ahead on their course. "You can't helm her around the clock, Jack."

"Why do ye think I learned to talk to her?" he agreed. "I let her do th' hard work for me, and happy she is for it." Anamaria gave him the snort he'd tried for earlier from Will, and Jack shook his head. "Then again, she's not fixed on thinkin' of a sweet'eart just a few days behind."

She scowled, but he could see the blush stirred even beneath the surface of her dark skin. "There's your problem, you know," she fired back, sotto voce, causing Jack to draw nearer to hear. "Always worrying more about everyone else's love life instead of your own."

"Oh, darlin', I have no such thing." It came out not as a lamentable sigh, but a graveled laugh. "Do, however, have quite th' appetite for lust, as well as a few of the other deadlies. This isn't new information."

"He is." She tilted her forehead to indicate the foredeck, and Jack cocked his head in time to see Will stand and stretch, rolling his head around on that fine, long neck. "That is, if you hadn't set a light to his temper."

"You have t' be joking." Her expression indicated she wasn't. "That one's about as amenable to buggery with yours truly as his Da was likely to get a courtship with th' King."

"There's your first mistake," Ana corrected him. "'Tis not 'buggery' to some, so much as it's companionship and passion. You've lived long enough to realize that, so I thought."

"And what about me fine self, m' dear, announces permanency to ye?" Jack wanted to know, spreading his arms wide. "I'm willin' to be his friend—isn't me fault he went questioning his own captain before an enemy. Nastier arseholes than meself have hanged men for far less."

She fixed him with a level expression. "Be reasonable; to him, you're Jack, and that bloody commodore is a childhood savior. Doesn't it occur to you he doesn't see either of you as his enemy?"

Jack pressed his lips together, suddenly, unaccountably annoyed. "Well, more th' fool him, then. He's a pirate now, on a pirate ship, and he'd better get used to th' idea of self-interest and kill or be killed, where th' limeys are concerned. I expect him to have more sense than that."

"Personally, I would expect more patience of character from the man legendary for biding his time for ten years just to get a ship back."

"I'd remind ye that you wail and gnash more than enough about a fishing boat, given half a chance," Jack rebutted, arching an eyebrow sardonically. "Or is helming your own ship no longer in your sights, Miss?"

She laughed. "You are a master of changing the subject, Sparrow. Probably how you got me to part with the Jolly Mon in the first place—I was too distracted to argue, by something or other." He leered. "Something small and indiscriminate, I'm certain." At that, Jack pouted, and she snorted again. "So mercurial ."

"Yes, well - I'm nothing like him." What he liked about Ana is she didn't need him to explain. "Christ on th' cross, you'd think I'd shot his mum, th' way he's carryin' on and ignoring me these past weeks. All I did was inform him of a few facts of life."

"Knowing you, you did so in such a warm, friendly fashion."

"I'm a goddamn pirate!" He dropped his voice as a few of the crew glanced up at his outburst of words and sudden gesturing. "'M not sure it's even by th' Articles for me to tolerate half the shite I put up with out o' this crew. Why does ever'one think I'm obliged to be their bloody nurse?"

"You're the one who established the tone of your relationship with Will," Ana pointed out, voice low again between them. "You led him to believe you were equals in so much. All I'm saying is you shouldn't start pissing vinegar when he takes advantage of it. Wasn't like he gave up our swag or handed the ship over to someone else, Jack."

The captain snorted, but didn't reply further. Ana didn't understand the point he was trying to make, and there was no use letting her know he didn't quite understand it anymore. He didn't understand Will's indifference, either. Didn't the man savvy Jack's position? Was he really so sensitive?

Lord, Bill, he is just like his mother, Jack thought at his long-dead friend. It's not just the eyes, after all.

****

The lad had kept a steady, pointed silence toward his captain since that day in Norrington's presence a few weeks earlier. Jack had been ready to forgive Will for his lapse in judgment around the Commodore, questioning his captain and all, but Turner had stonewalled all Sparrow's attempts to be friendly or even amiable. So, by God, he'd deserve of that kind of treatment, if that's the way the smith wanted it.

Jack peeled out of his shabby waistcoat and sighed, having already tossed the complicated sash over a hook protruding from the wall near his bureau. Even now, in the relative safety of his own cabin on his own ship, he shivered a little with the random memory of Elias Francois's hands on his skin. The odious Spanish pirate had done everything imaginable to Jack, and Jack had allowed him, all in the name of keeping Will—that ungrateful, arrogant, haughty whelp—out of the fellow's bunk. Times like this, he didn't know why he'd bothered after all, since it was clear the gesture was neither appreciated nor would it ever be reciprocated upon Jack's own person by the rescued party.

He frowned, annoyed with himself yet again for continuing to want what he couldn't have. He needed to get tumbled by someone who wanted to actually fuck Captain Jack Sparrow, who would at least feign some affection and desire for him for his own sake, instead of wanting who he couldn't have, and getting reamed as a substitute for someone else. Francois hadn't been the first time Jack had traded sexual favors for another kind—hell, he'd even taken a few here and there, though he'd never forced anyone or threatened them into the act—but it had been the first time he'd felt qualms, as though he were somehow irreparably harming something in the process.

It's because you know if you ever did have a chance with Turner, it's gone to ruin because of this, a neglected part of the back of his brain hissed. It's one thing to just get around a lot, but you've ventured into true whore territory, now haven't you, mate?

Jack's nostrils flared, angry with that little, dark voice. He'd have liked to say it was all bollocks, but the truth was, he'd all but admitted to Will what he'd done with Francois to save his fine, high arse and... well, look at their strained relationship now. It hadn't made a difference in Will's opinion of him after Jack chewed him out for questioning his authority.

He shook his head to clear it. Almost anything was attractive on Jack, but self-pity and self-recrimination were not. He was not cut out for the loser's role or for humility, and he'd be damned if this drove him to either. He just needed to put Will out of mind once and for all; after all, he reasoned, a person can't lose what they don't want and never get.

Not in any mood to read this late at night, he finished undressing, blew out the candles, and crawled between the sheets, stretching out on his back and staring up at the ceiling, getting his eyes used to the dark as he did every night before falling asleep. It was habit, a way to make sure he was acclimated for any disaster that might strike—attack, mutiny, storm—and he wouldn't have to waste valuable seconds beyond the burden of coming awake quickly blinking himself into awareness.

****

"Can I ask why?"

"I s'pose you can try, but you're not likely t' get an answer," Jack snapped back.

"I'm the First Mate. I have that right."

Jack turned to look Anamaria in her pretty brown eyes. "Ability and action are often not on and th' same," he pointed out, an edge to his voice. "I'm of a mood. Notify th' crew to ready."

He thought he caught her stopping just short of rolling her eyes, but said nothing. He knew he was being a rot, but the hell of it was, he didn't properly care. He'd been in control of so little for so long on his and Will's little land-based adventure, and then under Francois's oily thumb for enough time that every fighting instinct he had was roiling right now. They'd only captured a couple of prizes these past weeks since he'd been back at the Pearl's helm, and he itched to fire, swing over, stomp around a bit, scare people into submission rather than being the helpless party for a change.

Several minutes later, he glimpsed in his peripheral vision the improbable event of Will Turner taking steps toward the helm. He was most probably annoyed, judging by his abnormally heavy footfall. Well, what else was new?

He ignored the presence not too far behind his back as he pretended to examine the logbook beyond the time he needed. Finally, a clearing of the throat and a solemn, "Captain." He continued to ignore, until he heard a sigh, and a sharper, "Captain Sparrow!"

Jack turned, eyes cool, lips thin. "Mr. Turner?"

He was visibly grinding his jaw, put out enough to have to actually speak to Jack without the captain first prodding him. Good; Jack took a wicked satisfaction in making Will uncomfortable. "With all due respect, this raid may be an ill-advised venture."

"You have no due respect." Jack nearly smirked at the way the smith's eyes flashed. "As for th' rest of it, kindly leave the captaining of this vessel to me."

Will dropped his voice, hissing. "Jack, you're being an arse. Stop it."

"With all due respect, son, you need to learn better manners with your elders." It was Jack's turn to narrow nearly-black eyes and adopt an edge of a snarl. "I've been doin' this since before your da took a twinkle in his eye for your mum, so don' presume to tell me what I ought and ought not to do."

He saw Will's fists curl at his sides, but the younger man closed his eyes and appeared to be letting at least some of the hostility drain from his muscles. "It's not right, Jack. It's a small merchant ship. Probably a family, makes their living off ferrying valuables back and forth—"

"Then this'll teach them t' be better armed before they run into some bastard who really means them harm," Jack interrupted. "What part of piracy don't ye understand? We attack, we raid and pilfer, an' take our hearts' desire. Last I checked, ye signed th' same Articles as ever'one else on Pearl, an' now you're quibbling?"

"I'm not the only one who thinks this way!" Will burst out, eyes open and hostile.

"Mutiny?" Jack lifted a brow. "I don' think so, son. Try that little trick, an' I'll dump your arse off to th' sharks faster than ye can brandish one of your little daggers. I don't take kindly to bein' cuckolded twice."

Will shook his head, expression fierce and slightly pitying. "You've changed, Jack. I didn't do anything to you of any harm in front of the Commodore, nothing that would've warranted such a reaction a few months ago, and you were completely unreasonable. You're still being unreasonable, but now there's probably innocent people's lives at stake!"

Jack felt his face harden. "Get away from my helm," he growled.

"If you're angry with me, then take it out on me." Will dropped his voice.

"Why? So you can ignore me some more?" The moment he said it, he wished he hadn't; the words gave too much away. Will blinked, trying to assimilate, and Jack waved a bejeweled hand, turning aside. "Go away."

"Is that—"

"I said get th' fuck away!" Jack nearly spat.

Will drew back as though he'd been slapped, but slowly, hideously slow. The expression on his face chilled Jack, but he said no more, instead turning and heading back down to the main deck, shoulders stiff, spine straight.

Jack set his jaw, staring back out at the small ship. Truthfully, there was a deep part that hated what he was planning. That conscience had once run things for him, until it had failed him horribly with Barbossa and his mutinous crew—Jack had punished that part by shoving it down and only lending an ear when the whim suited him. The whim didn't suit today, and Will hadn't helped matters. He touched the worn, almost glass-smooth wood of the helm. His ship understood; she wouldn't chastise. She knew what he did, accepted him for it.

Except, she wasn't talking to him right now.

It was curious, that. She'd been content enough when he'd stepped aboard, fished through his mind, happily reacquainting herself with her captain much the way a favored dog leaps all over its master after being parted for a long time. When she started asking about Will, though, and Jack had drawn back, refusing to explain his rage, she'd apparently taken it as cue she wasn't allowed to ask anything. This was just dandy—he'd given up what little virtue and self-respect he'd had to Francois to protect a man clearly contemptuous of him and his authority, and now the ship he'd worked so hard to return to had basically turned her prow up at him. Jack was just grateful he was no longer married so that at least Esther continued to communicate with him, even if it was by letters.

Per Jack's orders, someone from the gunwale fired a warning shot over the smaller vessel. The Green Dale proved relatively easy to board, her crew properly submissive. It made Jack cranky; he rarely trusted when things were so easy. Besides, he was spoiling for a fight and hoped to find more amusing fare than what amounted to a couple of families and minimal crew apparently relocating across the sea. He ordered the women take the few children below (after parting with their lovely finger-trinkets and other jewels, of course—normally he left the ladies their wedding bands, but he was in that shitty a mood today), and at one point, caught Will out of the corner of his eye. The blacksmith kept his usual post just behind and to the side of Jack, sword drawn and wary of potential danger, but his expression was grim and disapproving of his captain.

He'd lined up the men, harangued them, wheedled a couple while his boarding party searched the ship. Hell, he'd even found out where they were going so he could leave them enough victuals to reach their destination without starving. Not as complete a villain as he would've liked, then.

Jack made sure his crew were heading back to the ship with their last load before bowing toward the menfolk, never dipping his head, keeping his eyes on them, and straightened. "This is the day," he proclaimed, raising his voice as usual with his trademark, "you will always remember ye were graced by th' presence of Captain Jack—"

And then it happened. One of the older men, perhaps a grandfather—certainly not a member of the crew, by the lack of a sufficient tan or burn—lunged at Jack's side. The pirate didn't have the time to process the odd expression on his face, wonder at the "NO!" the old man hollered. One second Jack was in danger; the next, he'd drawn his pistol and fired into the man's shoulder, felling him to his knees.

One of the young men, perhaps a little older than Turner, went to a knee beside the old man, grabbing his arms to keep him from slumping over, and aimed a hateful expression at Jack. "You blackguard!" he yelled. "He's an old man! He was only trying to keep his granddaughter safe!"

Jack's brow furrowed angrily, but he was interrupted by someone tugging forcibly at the back of his coat sleeve. "Over here!" Will's voice insisted, low and urgent.

The captain glanced behind him, where a young woman knelt, her arms wrapped around a little girl of maybe two or three. Only now did Jack register the sound of the woman nattering nonsense to calm the child, who was crying, fighting her caretaker, reaching out for the thirty feet or so that separated her from the old man.

He'd been captured by more navies than anyone usually ever got to see in a lifetime, been on the scaffolds twice, locked up multiple times, marooned, and shot—but for the first time since he was a neophyte to the sea, Jack had absolutely no idea what to do. He'd always remained very careful about how he conducted himself, his raids, even going so far as to drill his crew in proper behavior and punishing or putting them off if they violated his edicts and Articles.

Goddammit! He'd thought the old man was trying to attack, to knock him down or had a hidden blade, or was planning to rob one of Jack's own weapons off his person! Why did the girl have to be so bloody quiet? Why hadn't she been kept below?

The anger gave Jack an anchor, something to hold to and around which to manufacture actions and decisions. "Get her out o' here!" he barked at the woman, pointing at the girl. Unfortunately, he was still wielding his pistol. It had the desired effect of sending girl and woman below without question, but he hastily jammed it back into his sash, cursing himself for not doing so before giving the order. Jack Sparrow had not made his reputation terrorizing women and helpless children, or shooting old men.

He spun to face the few of his crew still on board. "Go get Benjamin!" he ordered Jonathan, one of the dark-skinned twins. The lad dipped his head in acknowledgement and headed off to Pearl for her resident physic. He motioned Jim, Jonathan's twin, over while speaking to Will. "Keep a guard." Turner didn't move, didn't put his sword away or lower his guard, but kept his eyes narrowed at Jack. It wasn't difficult to divine his angry thoughts.

Jack and Jim forcibly shooed away the younger man from the older, who was paler than he'd been, but still upright on his knees. "Lie back," Jack growled, reaching up to yank off his headscarf. He bunched and pressed the dirty red silk to the wound. It'd been one bullet, not close to the heart (and on the wrong side of the body, thank fate), so Jack held out hope for a full recovery. The biggest problem was going to be possibility of infection, for which Jack had no easy answers. He hoped to God or Whomever Benjamin had something in his paltry supply to paste it up and keep out the nasties.

The old man closed his eyes, then fluttered them open to look up at the two pirates attending him. "Can't be dead," he croaked, blinking rapidly.

"Aye, th' angels are prettier than th' likes of us," Jack replied. He made sure he had the man's attention, then leaned closer and dropped his voice. "Twasn't my intention t' harm any of ye," he tried to explain without looking soft in front of his crew. "I've never yet taken delight in th' death of the old or infirm. But why th' bloody hell didn't ye just say somethin'?"

More blinking. "You're a pirate, aren't you?" Jack glanced at Jim, and nodded. The man's pale green eyes reflected incomprehension. "That's what you do, kill people. My life matters less than Ellie's."

Jack leaned back on his heels, briefly squeezing his eyes shut. "Not all pirates," he answered. "'S why I sent th' children below with th' womenfolk."

The younger man who'd attended the old man scoffed. "As if it matters!" he snapped, apparently feeling brave before a man who'd apologized for shooting. "You'd probably just have killed us and defiled them afterwards!"

The part of Jack that was still holding onto some residual anger at the world at large made him level black eyes at the fellow as he slowly climbed to his booted feet. "We're not off here yet," he warned in a cold, cold tone of voice. "And seein' as we're armed and you are not, I'd be ver' careful about what I said to me right now. Savvy?"

That shut the fellow up, though he looked no happier. Fine; Jack had no interest in controlling what people thought, so long as their actions matched what he wanted done. He caught sight of Benjamin climbing up over the rail with Jonathan, and stepped back to give the older pirate plenty of room to examine Jack's victim. "What's your name, old fellow?" Jack directed at the prone man.

"Arnett," he coughed. "Silas Arnett."

"Well, Mr. Arnett, Benjamin here's lots of experience patchin' up citizens from all walks o' life. I daresay he'll slather somethin' on your wound that'll make ye wish ye'd just gone on and perished instead."

As one old man set to work on the other, Jack turned to face Will and cut his eyes off to the side. "A word," he commanded, leading the way to the rail. When they were far enough from Silas and his caretakers, Jack stopped and crossed his arms. "Well, go on, then."

"Go where?"

Jack scowled. "Don' be disingenuous, Mr. Turner. I wasn' born yesterday an' neither were you."

The lad's nostrils flared, and Jack thought him a very pretty racehorse for it. Well, maybe a good ride, anyway. The unbidden dirty thought almost made him smile, but the situation was all wrong for the urge to last. "He could die," Will said—and no more.

"I'm well aware," Jack replied, all seriousness. "Any suggestions?"

"You're asking for my opinion? Special day." The tone, while curious, still made it clear such opinion would include disposal of Jack himself over the side of the ship.

"I can leave them here an' let them find their own way to port," Jack explained patiently, not really feeling it, "or I can provide some sort of escort in range of land." Off Will's raised eyebrow, he added, "I didn' get where I am by shooting old folks, William. I've no desire t' be talked about as such, either by me own crew or someone else's."

A strange expression flickered across Will's face, interrupting the disdain momentarily. "If candor's what you want, then I think you should give them an escort. You should also give them their possessions back." Jack pulled a face. "Well, at least the ladies their rings and such." Jack didn't change his expression, and Will tightened his jaw. "That gold actually means something to them, Jack; it's not swag."

He sighed. Bill, I'd love to know how this one came from your issue. He's far more honest than you and your late missus put together. He would've wondered at Will's parentage if the fellow hadn't looked so damned much like his da, and hadn't possessed his mum's deep amber eyes. Jack said nothing, turning to catch the twins' attention and motion them over. He pitched his voice low as he addressed them. "If I give ye coordinates to where th' Pearl's makin' landfall and put you an' Benjamin on this tub to guide these people to safe port, you two think ye can get there afterward without bringin' unwelcome company?"

Jim and Jonathan glanced at one another and nodded; they understood the reference to Navy. Jack didn't mind if they caught a ride with some passing merchant vessel or transport, since San Rafe was, after all, hardly secluded or illegal. Besides, Pearl had a pretty little hiding place tucked into a cliff on the side of the island away from most traffic.

"Be off with ye, then." Jack waved dismissively. "We'll be settin' sail in less than an hour." Once they were gone, he glanced at Will. "Satisfied?"

Will arched a brow and cast his eyes down to rearrange his sword belt, tone casual. "Why do you care?" He didn't wait for an answer, to Jack's relief, but moved off toward the plank balanced across both ships' rails to cross back to Pearl.

****

Shame, that. Then again, maybe not. All along, Jack knew it was foolishness to experience the sorts of feelings he was having for his dead friend's son. The first stirrings of desire had been normal enough, as he was a right handsome young thing, but it had since blossomed into something far too dangerously permanent for Jack's peace of mind.

On the fifth morning, sometime close to noon, the watchman called land, and Jack heard even the ship herself groaning relief. Life at sea was all very well and free, but every so often even the fishiest of men needed solid land beneath his boots. With a bit of practiced maneuvering, Jack managed to tuck Pearl into her bay formed by the inward turn of two cliffs, keeping her barely clear of the wide beach so she wouldn't be carried up on early tide. Her anchor would have to be pulled back each day as she drifted closer, but it was a relatively simple thing any three sailors could do in short time.

As his rowboat approached land, he spotted a group of children and a few adults emerging from a grove of trees. One hurried her pace, breaking out into a long-legged jog toward shore. When he could do so without being sucked into the mild undertow, Jack clamored over the side into a few inches of water and waded ashore, managing to anchor himself just as the girl ran up and threw her arms around his shoulders. "Why're you so late, Da?" were the first words out of her mouth.

"Well, least it isn' 'What'd ye bring me?' like some lasses," he teased, picking her up, whirling her in a couple of circles before abruptly setting her down. "Whoa, that was a lot easier last time," he grunted mildly, looking down into her cocoa face. "Have you been growing, then?"

"I'm ten." She grinned. "It's been almost a year."

"Well, yes, I s'pose that explains ever'thing." He looked back to see the rest of his boat mates pulling the little vessel ashore, and stepped beside his daughter to gesture toward them. "Ye remember Gibbs and Marty, an' Stumpy, ye met them all last time," he prompted, and she bobbed her head, tightly braided into neat little cornrows near her scalp. "And here be Will Turner, th' newest addition to our fine crew."

"You mean who helped you beat Barbossa?" He'd told her the story, at least part of it.

"No other."

Whatever he thought of his captain, Will had the grace to stop a few feet from the girl and smile in her direction. Not quite yet as old as Ivy, she was more immune to his masculine charms and simply stuck out her hand as she would for any acquaintance when Jack prompted, "This is Liana, Mr. Turner."

"How are you?" Will shook the hand rather than turning it up for a lady's kiss.

"Goo- Well," she corrected, and Jack glanced away so she wouldn't see his grin; obviously, her mother had kept on her case about her grammar. "And how is the sea?"

Fickle bitch as always, Jack supplied quietly, as Will answered, "Quite calm today, it seems."

Liana bobbed her head. "Can we go aboard?" she asked her father.

"Later. I just got me feet dry; I'd like t' keep them that way for awhile, aye?" In response, she pulled at his arm, tugging him back toward town. "How's your mother?"

"Busy. She's stitching the shirts for the pairing ritual."

"Ah, that." Jack had only ever been to one such thing, and had both grinned and been quite relieved when the town's shaman had passed him over with an amused shake of the head. Apparently making nice with moneyed travelers by hooking them to a nice girl was not on the man's agenda; Jack had to admit he respected the fellow more for it.

Of course, he would possibly respect the fellow even more were he not an English-born huckster named Randolph, a resident of San Rafe less time than Liana had been alive. Still, he apparently got results, or so Viola claimed. "Nobody's he put together has broken up," she pointed out when Jack mentioned it to her some time later, seated in her kitchen as she took a sip of mint water.

"Where's people gon' go?" Jack rebutted, gesturing widely. "Not like there's a reg'lar vessel to get away from here on a weekly basis. Too far."

Liana's mother shrugged. "I'll admit what he does isn't all that mysterious—he observes people, and he works with that. But I still wouldn't be surprised if there's a little magic involved, as well."

"Good thing he wasn't around eleven years ago." Jack smirked as he motioned between them. "He'd have pegged us all wrong."

"I doubt he would've put us together in the first place." Viola raised an eyebrow. "We only do this once a year, Jack, and it's hardly as though he pairs off the entire town. He just puts together a few couples."

"I wonder, anything fancier 'n that? Ménage a trois, hmm?"

"There's a lot less happy with that sort of thing than you'd think." Jack was tempted to ask how she knew, when she sipped more water and fixed him with amused eyes, but was interrupted by the approach of smaller footsteps. He wisely clammed up, turning to spot Liana skittering toward them. "No running inside," Viola warned mildly.

"Sorry, Mama." She quirked a brow at Jack. "Can I go see the Pearl now?"

He glanced to Viola for confirmation, then rose to his feet. "Oh, all right." He cocked his head toward Viola. "Did ye think maybe to ask your mum if she'd like t' visit as well?"

Unperturbed, Liana looked to Viola. "You should see the ship this time, Mama; last time Da was here, you didn't even go look."

"Last time Da was here," Viola corrected her, "it was only for three days, and we were busy canning. Or, to be more accurate, I was busy with it." The girl had the grace to look abashed. "I know why you weren't helping; it was quite all right."

"But you can go now, right?"

Viola looked to Jack, and grinned. "Why not? I've heard enough about it over the years, I might as well get a look at this boat."

"Ship, love," Jack corrected. "Don't call her a boat while you're standin' on her; she'll capsize."

****

He spent his days alternately following Liana to near and far corners of the island, exploring its trees and streams from her point of view, and settling disputes here and there among sailors. Gibbs or Will would show up every so often with a question about inventory; after the third day, he told both to take a break, as there were enough provisions for a hasty departure. Joshamee was happy enough to follow "orders" as they were, but Will proved more difficult to separate from his work.

"I told ye not to worry about this." Jack crossed his arms casually, frowning as he came across the blacksmith unpacking flour for the galley the next afternoon. He leaned against the door frame, shaking his head. "That's Maxi's job, anyhow."

"He's not doing it."

"That's because he needs somethin' to do at sea," Jack pointed out. "That's why we put the crates and bags in storage—not much t' do some days, an' it'll drive even th' laziest man mad to be at loose ends too long in a confined space like a ship." Will didn't speak, simply finished unpacking, and straightened to stretch out his spine a few seconds later. "Am I gon' have to order ye to leave things be?" Jack remarked caustically.

For the first time in a long while, Will began a new conversation about something other than ship's business. "What happened with Francois?"

If he'd asked about the state of political affairs on the moon, Jack wouldn't have been any less prepared. "What?"

The smith pressed the heels of his hands to the small wooden chopping island separating he and Jack and leaned forward, pinning the captain's eyes with his own. "What did you do to keep him away from me?"

"Where did this come from?" Not that Jack wasn't glad for willing conversation from the lad, but this was not a topic he was prepared to discuss.

"You keep trying to start me talking to you again." Will lifted a hand and gestured at Jack up and down. "So tell me what went on. What did you do to keep me down in that brig?"

Unwanted memories surfaced, and Jack drew his mouth tight reflexively. "Not your concern, I'd say," he began, slowly, "but if ye must know, I kept him busy with threats of what'd happen if he violated a citizen of the Crown."

"He wouldn't have cared—I daresay if he'd thought I was a legitimate prisoner, he'd have gone out of his way to make my life more miserable."

"Ah, but you're not thinking, William."

"Seems to be a common theme to your little speeches."

Jack ignored the edge of anger and held up an index finger to make his point. "Had he thought you were a citizen, it would be in his best interests t' keep ye safe an' warm as possible, for th' highest ransom. After all, nobody's gon' pay for a pirate—" He spread his hands toward himself, "but they will fork out for a God-fearin', tax-paying subject."

Will didn't speak at first, apparently absorbing the information. Finally, he dropped his voice and stood upright again. "I would never tell anyone what you told me, you know," he confided. "I'd really rather not be angry with you, but—you treat me like a boy, a... a naïf, who knows little and figures out less, Jack."

"That's certainly not true—"

"It is, lately. The way you talked to me in front of the Commodore—I thought you considered me an equal—"

"Not before another naval commander, no." Jack shook his head. "Do ye have any idea how it makes me look t' be contradicted by one of me own crew?"

"I didn't contradict you! I was just pointing out—"

"You called me a goddamn fool!" Jack's patience was swiftly running out. "Now it's one thing t' say it to me face when we're just here on th' ship or alone. But in front of the enemy?"

"Norrington's not the enemy, Jack!"

"Yes, he is!" Jack moved as close as the block would allow; it was his turn to lean across, voice low and intent. "Who do ye think would bloody well order me to th' gallows? Not Elizabeth. Not th' town haberdasher, or the baker—Commodore James Norrington of His Majesty's Royal Fucking Navy!"

"I—" For once, Will didn't try to explain himself. His mouth opened and closed twice, but nothing else came out.

"And if push came t' shove, he'd do the exact same thing to you tomorrow." Will still said nothing, his expression a mixture of confusion and bleak hurt. "I know what he did for ye, lad. I know what ye need to tell yourself, to believe—but th' facts are, that life is over with. You left it behind. You're not a child anymore, William." Jack knew Will would never believe it hurt him to watch the smith finally realize one of life's worst truths, but it had to happen sometime. "He's not your protector any longer. He's your mortal enemy."

Will didn't move, keeping his eyes cast down and off to the side. His jaw ground, and Jack realized he was trying to be angry in order to avoid further discourse. "I'm sorry," Jack offered sincerely.

"You're good at changing the subject." Will's voice was low and nearly hissing. "When you don't want to talk about something, you'll avoid it at any cost."

Jack rolled his eyes. Not this again. "Drop it," he warned.

"I think I will." With that, he picked up the empty crate at his feet and came around the block, shoving his way past Jack, who watched him go in spite of the urge to make him stay and argue until whatever—this was, was resolved. Then again, that could take a very long time.

****

Though San Rafe had been inhabited by escaped slaves and other social castoffs—as well as the rare respectable citizen seeking a quiet life—for nearly half a century, the pairing ceremony had only been going for about twenty years. Long ago, Viola had told him memories from her girlhood, of watching the annual ritual with friends and laughing at some of the results wrought by the older shaman who'd been doing it at that time—the same man who'd begun the custom locally. Only he and Randolph had ever conducted it and, not surprisingly, Randolph had ended up here initially as a guest of the dear, departed witch doctor.

That was how Jack thought of the fellow, May he rest in peace. Turned out lots of the locals disagreed, but then again, they lived with the man and, perhaps, were so desperate to not be alone that they humored and lived by Randolph's efforts. Jack suffered no such handicap, and harbored enough skepticism to rely more upon his own matchmaking abilities than someone else's. Besides, it didn't take much skill for Jack to find a willing wench or lad in port, eager to make a night's wages if the captain were so disposed, or to simply accommodate him so they'd have a story to tell about fucking a legend.

It didn't matter he hadn't been so disposed in well over a year; fact was, he could do it anytime he liked.

"I certainly hope there's a reward somewhere at th' end of this," Jack grumbled as he and Liana made their way to the town square in the fading early evening light.

"Like rum?" He laughed at her assessment. "Mama said that."

"Well, Mama is absolutely correct. At me age, a little rum isn't gon' hurt anything." He draped a hand across her shoulders and kept his eyes pointed at the hard-packed dirt to avoid tripping over anything in bare feet.

The closer they got, the more dirt gave way to grainy, then soft, white sand. The "town square" was more of a strip than any other type of geometric enclosure, among the island's few supply stories and booths, and one side was open to the sea from a respectable distance to allow for the tide. A cliff rose sharply a couple hundred yards on the other side of the outermost building, shielding the very bay where Pearl was sleeping—she could be seen from the strip, but even then, just barely, and not at all of a night.

Jack had consented to let the local hairdresser unwind his dreadlocks and get just enough lye scrubbed into his hair to dissolve the sugar-and-honey fixer. He'd managed to protect a lock near his face on which he'd already begun another collection of beads and baubles, including a couple of mineral stones a very bored Will had whittled holes into while stuck in Francois's brig, to pass the time. His hair hung in damp raven and auburn waves around his shoulders, just long enough to hit him between the shoulder blades, and he wore the traditional garb of ceremony participants—cream-colored linen shirt and loose breeches that came to mid-calf. The material was well-designed, light against his skin and reflecting nighttime heat in the northern Caribbean.

A loose congregation of about two hundred people, including Jack's crew, were standing about talking, drinking, eating, and making merry in the midst of staked torches when he and Liana arrived. He doubted this would be the full extent of participants, seeing as a good two hundred more lived on the island. Only about twenty other people were dressed similarly to Jack, and he brightened.

"Oh, good!" he observed to his daughter. "Won't last long, and we can get to the festivities, then."

She shook her head, slapped Jack lightly on the arm, and called, "Luck be with you!" as she took off across the sand for a group of children near a booth selling little cakes. This left Jack looking around for anyone he might know, aside from his crew—several of whom were not taking part in this infernal ceremony, and were smirking in his direction.

"Aren't you the pretty one?" He turned his head to look into Anamaria's face. She cocked her head and stepped back to look him up and down. "Let me guess: your daughter's idea?"

"Viola's, actually." Jack shook his head and brushed back some loose hair blowing into his face. "She accused me of bein' too elitist, said it was settin' a bad example for Liana. Truly, I don' think there's anything wrong with teaching her it's good to be picky an' choose your own bed partners, but what do I know?"

"Maybe she just wants you to have fun."

"Nay, th' fun comes after. Unless I miss me guess, that's kegs of rum stacked near th' mercantile, and a few fellows with instruments t' strike up some lively mood once we're all quit of this nonsense." Only then did Jack notice Ana's cream garb, and quirked the corner of his lips. "You too?"

It was the pirate woman's turn to shrug. "When you're the only woman in a crew, sometimes there's problems. Thought it'd be good to show some of these sods I'm not going to be hopping into their hammocks anytime soon."

Jack narrowed his eyes, but she shook her head at his frown. "Jack, you can't stop them, all of them. Besides, I handle myself, and there's never been anything so bad a few sharp words or a punch to the teeth doesn't stop it." Still, Jack ground his jaw; he'd specifically ordered the crew to give Anamaria a wide berth—more for their own safety than hers, admittedly—and if she didn't seem interested in an initial offer, to back off and let her be.

"Come on." Ana took his sleeve and directed him to walk beside her toward the circle of white-clad participants—Suckers, all of us!—being herded into loose formation near a clump of torches. Jack gave passing crewmen who catcalled a raised eyebrow and, when he was certain no children were looking, an upraised middle finger as well. Had he been stricter, he might make note and have them keelhauled later, but he had to admit when he didn't get roped into this in the past, he too sat back and smirked. Usually while holding a tankard of rum.

Ah, rum. And peace.

"Well, we're not the only ones, at least." Ana gestured with a nod, and Jack glanced across the circle to spot Joseph and Stumpy similarly dressed. They were two young bucks always eager to meet new girls, so Jack couldn't be terribly surprised. What did set him back on his heels was the sight of Will not too far from them, casually conversing with a woman to his left garbed in matching cream shirt and a knee-length skirt.

Jack allowed himself to fix his eyes on the younger man, to actually stare from this distance. His shirt was unbuttoned to the center of his chest, the hem untucked and loose around his hips. Short breeches similar to the other men's stopped just below his knees, showing off long, slender calves and the tops of unshod feet half-buried in sand. He'd left his hair untied, and the ends sat upon his shoulders, loose wavy curls catching orange glints from the torchlight as he moved his head, laughing over something his neighbor was telling him.

Only Randolph's voice broke his attention, pulling it back upon himself as he entered the loose circle and climbed up on a wooden crate set there for the purpose. He held up his hands, eventually having a dull roar instead of a cacophony of festivity, and when it had dwindled to just a few voices on the outer fringe of the celebration, he spoke. "I see everyone's in a good mood tonight," he spoke mildly, drawing chuckles and a few "Aye!s" from those in attendance. "Well, that's why we're here, after all.

"Now I know you would all like to get to the best part, the drinking and dancing, and since we have a small enough crowd for this year's Pairing Ritual, that shouldn't be long off." He cleared his throat. "But perhaps you'd all like to see some matching going on before you settle in with your drink and food?"

A loud cheer went up outside the circle, and Jack couldn't help shaking his head, grinning. It'd be over soon enough and he could stand back from the circle and smirk at the remaining crewmen left.

Unless, of course, one was Will. The idea of the blacksmith being matched up with some new woman bothered him more than the possibility of him with Elizabeth ever had, perhaps because that hadn't seemed likely from the get-go, given their backgrounds and social limitations. Here, there were a plethora of eligible, attractive young women, none of whom were beyond Will Turner's strata or reach.

"For those who're new this year, here's what I do: I go around and pick those as I feel not ready for the ceremony just yet, and they'll back off into the crowd. Now this doesn't mean," he turned, facing the other side of the crowd, "this doesn't mean those good people shouldn't be with someone, just that they're not ready, or that a match doesn't exist here.

"Some have asked how I have the authority to do this." He chuckled, and a fair amount of the crowd laughed, too; a few couples even raised their hands into the air and called support and approval for Randolph. "All I can say is it's a gift I have, just like a doctor might be able to cure the sick, or a poet compose the perfect verse. I've not disappointed yet." He cast his eyes around the circle. "Though, I suppose there's always a first time."

More snickering, and he waited for it to die down before concluding. "Nobody here tonight's obligated. Though, it'd be a shame for me to do all this work just to see any of you back in my circle next spring." A few of the better-known cads were good-naturedly catcalled by their friends and family, including Jack himself by a small contingent of crewmen at his back. He turned and gave them a mock curtsey, and several clapped.

Randolph, not much older than Jack and still quite spry, hopped off the box and started wandering the interior perimeter of the circle. "If I tell you to go," he spoke where all twenty-eight participants could hear (Jack had taken a quick head count during the early part of the speech), "you leave the circle. I don't think we'll be sending away many tonight, but, you... just... never... know." He approached a young woman, perhaps even a girl of about sixteen, and gently touched her shoulder. "Try next year, love," he spoke sympathetically, dropping his voice, and her smile dropped away into something that looked perilously close to tears. "Go on, then, be a good girl."

Jack hoped neither of his daughters would ever take such a thing so seriously. Sure, it was good for girls to have caretakers, but there was no law said they needed men for such things—Viola did quite well raising Liana on her own, or at least with the help of her sister from time to time, and Jack knew Anamaria was far happier solitary than with someone. She was, in fact, next on Randolph's cut list—not a surprise, considering she had at least one boyfriend elsewhere. She glanced to Jack in triumph as she turned to leave; he only shook his head, grinning.

Randolph stalked along the circle twice more, slowly, pausing to look into each person's face for a few seconds each time. The first time, Jack had merely looked back, unruffled. The second, he lifted an eyebrow when the man went on past, then glanced around at the women left nearby. Please let it be someone who's not looking to join up with pirates, he prayed silently. Yeah, it's been a while, and I guess I wouldn't object to something short-lived, but hell. I'm just not interested in sharing my ship.

After he'd weeded out six people, Randolph climbed back on his box. "Now, for the next part," he announced.

A few volunteers stepped into the circle with cloth in their hands, and Jack tensed. He'd forgotten the blindfolds—he hated feeling closed in, caged or boxed, including by his own senses. He said nothing as a woman moved behind him, lifting a folded black piece of cloth over his head, concentrating on Randolph's voice as he cursed himself for being pulled into this stupid idea for entertainment. Who calls this entertainment, anyhow? Watching a duel'd be more fun.

"Again, for those of you who are new, what I'm doing is having the remaining participants' eyes covered so I can make my selections. I'll place them back to back, leaving them that way until I'm finished, and they will then be free to remove the blindfolds." He gentled his voice for those wearing blindfolds. "I won't make any of you keep them on too long, do not worry."

Easy for him to spout. Jack braced his feet apart in the sand, keeping his eyes shut beneath the cloth, for it gave him a greater feeling of control than straining to see indistinct shapes he couldn't make out if a gun were held to his head.

What he also didn't want to admit, to remember, was the one time Francois had insisted on a variation of this particular handicap. It had been during Jack's initial agreement to service him, in exchange for his and Will's continued existence. He'd been blindfolded, his hands tied palms together for maximum restraint, and thoroughly—though not roughly, at least—used before being left alone to unmask and clean himself, and dress.

He nearly jumped when hands landed on his shoulders, and heard some familiar chuckles at his back. They weren't malicious; they couldn't know what he knew, see his memories. Thank the deities!

Murmured conversation, whispering, laughing were common enough during this part, and Jack concentrated on sounds of merriment instead of his own darker memories, wondering who of the circle he actually knew would be put with someone that would actually surprise him. Young Ogilvy had had his eye on a local baker's assistant since they'd made shorefall, and Jack hadn't been blind to the girl giving him the eye back. Ah, young love, he mused inwardly. Or at least vigorous lust.

He supposed he were standing at someone's back by now, though they were far enough apart that he had no clue who it might be. He could reach back and touch if he wanted to try, but it held no appeal—no use letting them think he was eager to find out, in any case. It was going to be difficult enough, he assumed, to extract himself from whatever situation Randolph was putting him into.

After what seemed an eternity in close darkness, a light blessed breeze rolling in off the ocean the only thing keeping Jack calm, Randolph spoke again. "You may remove the cloth now."

Not wanting to display his great relief, Jack reached up and calmly slipped his up over his head, blinking against the dusk that suddenly seemed very bright by the glow of torches. He spotted Anamaria, Gibbs, and several crewmen all with arms crossed, smirking in his direction. Oh lord, what now? he wondered, trying to understand why he ended up being such a constant source of amusement for these people. He supposed he couldn't complain, since they took orders equally well, but still.

He turned slowly, catching sight of others to his side spotting one another. A few looked surprised; the younger couples joyfully threw their arms around one another, and only one set seemed absolutely shocked.

Until Jack spotted who was behind him. He took a step back, blinking, mouth open and silent for a few seconds as his pounding heart found its way back down into his chest. "Oh, now I know God has a sense o' humor, lad, but this is a hell of a trick t' play 'pon your captain."

"What—you think I did this?" Either he was a damn good actor, or Will was equally knocked off-guard as he pointed to his own chest. "I assure you, Jack, I had no part. Anamaria got me into this tonight; it wasn't my doing."

"Hmph." Jack thought it over. "Sounds like somethin' she and Viola cooked up for amusement, wouldn't ye say?"

Suddenly, Randolph was at their side, looking between them. He didn't appear amused. "I assure both of you, there is no trickery involved, and it's insulting to suggest as much." Both men glared at him. "I did the same thing with both of you that I did with every other person in this circle—it's nothing I can explain, it's just what comes to me. Instinct."

"Well, your instincts, sir, are in need of fixing." Jack frowned, consternated. He was more worried Randolph was legitimate, than of how he himself looked to his crew—after all, the man had picked for Jack the one person in the entire selection that Jack would've picked, were he prepared to be as honest with the public as he was with himself.

Randolph only smiled at him before turning away, heading to a nearby couple more than overjoyed with their pairing. When he was gone, Jack looked back to Will and attempted to explain—what, he didn't know. "Look, it's nothin' personal—"

"I understand, Captain." Appearing faintly amused, Will held up a hand. "I still think we've been had by someone, or some mutual someones."

"No doubt." Jack relaxed. "Though, ye'd think they would've had a better joke had they taken your preferences into account, matched ye up with some strumpet instead. Suppose it wouldn' have been as funny, though."

"There is that to consider." Will looked ready to say something else, but they were interrupted by Viola, who appeared and stuck a tankard into each of their hands. "Thank you," Will began to the woman, "but I don't—"

"It's not going to kill you," Viola reassured him. "Just some short beer, ale—nothing too strong, I promise. It's a festival, after all." She looked between them. "And, you both look like you could use a keg apiece, I swear."

"Conservative estimate," Jack muttered into his rum, nodding his thanks to her. "You can't imagine."

****

If this was someone's idea of a joke and Jack ever found out who it was, he really would keelhaul them. He'd worked so hard for so long, at so many otherwise opportune moments, to keep his lust for the Turner lad confined to his own mind. Only Elizabeth had really spoken up, and she'd kept it between the two of them, as far as he knew.

Worse, though, was the brief, foolish spark of hope he'd felt when he'd initially spotted Will as the person behind him. Everyone and everything around them dropped into an indistinct background; had Will shown even the slightest interest, he would've embarrassed himself and gone to the man, throwing his arms around the smith. As it was, not only did he still have to keep things confined to his own mind, he now had to work extra at it for Will's sake, since the odd experience had undoubtedly thrown suspicion his way. Chances were the smith had no faith in this sort of voodoo, but there was always the off-chance he'd give Jack closer scrutiny now.

Finally, Jack managed to sneak away from Liana and his crew and everyone else, and make his way along shadows down the beach to one of the several rowboats dug partway into the sand. He pried one loose and shoved it out into the glassy black water beneath the full moon, hopping in to begin rowing toward Pearl. He had rum, he had solitude, and he was going to take both to his ship for the night. Being captain had its prerogatives, after all, occasional privacy being one of them. Securing the boat after the partially-exhausting row—this is why he didn't usually drink at sea, despite everyone's collective belief to the contrary—Jack climbed Pearl's hull and snaked up over the railing.

Ah, solitude. He had her lightly bobbing planks beneath the damp soles of his feet, a bottle of rum in his hand, and began to feel a weight lifting off his heart. He wandered to a crate near the rail and climbed up, crossing his legs and arranging himself with the rum in his lap. Leaning back, he directed his gaze to the brilliant stars, away from the revelry on land, letting his mind wander as it would, unconcerned with affairs of ship or state, or anyone's welfare but his own immediate thoughts.

Predictably, they came back to Will. Fine, let them, he thought, too drunk—or something—to fight it. I'm in love, and I'm an old fool for being in love, and it serves me right to get it knocked upside my head with the idiocy and futility of it. It's about fucking time I quit mooning over the lad and found someone for the moment, for Chrissake. Hell, anyone'd do—any warm, willing woman in the next available port town, or perhaps even a man. Jack wouldn't be picky—all he wanted was dark eyes and dark hair, and warm, pliable lips, and something firm between the legs, and strong, slender arms to pull him near as he groaned into that sinfully sweet mouth and heard a deep baritone saying his name.

"Oh!" Jack sat upright at the voice, scrambling awake through a fog of sleep, feeling his bottle fall forward and hearing it hit the deck and slosh. "I didn't know you'd come back here."

"I—yeah, I did. Sleep easier on th' water 's all." Jack blinked; he didn't know how long he'd been asleep, though there was a crick in the back of his neck from slumping it against the coil of rope behind him. "You're all right. I can go below."

"It's your ship." Will stood in the middle of the deck, not too far away, looking oddly lost now that he thought he'd lost his sleeping quarters. "I was just going to do some work down in the forge."

"No, that's all—" Jack stopped, his brain clearing, and sighed as he unfolded his legs over the side of the crate. "It's a big ship, Will. I s'pose we can both walk on it and not have to see one 'nother if you don't want."

"It's... not that." He wasn't moving, and Jack wondered what was wrong. "I just wanted away from that crowd. It's too noisy, too drunken. Worse than Song Night on the Pearl."

Jack couldn't help laughing at the image. "Something worse than that?"

"I didn't think so until now." The crate was plenty wide, but Jack was still surprised when he came over and sat on the edge of it, about a foot away. "I never thought I'd see the day the crew's entertainment was preferable to the population of a respectable town."

"Whatever gave ye th' idea they were respectable?"

"Oh, I don't know." Will shrugged, looking over at Jack with an expression of droll amusement. "The presence of children, maybe."

"Lad, that's evidence right there of th' highest revelry. Or at least havin' quite a lot of unsupervised fun." Will shifted his eyes sideways, and Jack, never embarrassed, felt his face burn. "Apologies—" he began.

"It's not—"

"Look, that thing tonight was—"

"I know, it was stupid, and—"

Jack turned toward him. "Was a dumb custom, is all. Damn—"

"It's all right—"

"No, it's not. Someone tried to embarrass us, and—"

"Jack—"

"I'll find out who it is, and then I'm gon' make them wish—"

"It's not necessary—"

"They shouldn't have done that t' you." Will looked up, impossibly young and impossible to want, and Jack ached to leave him alone, to take him back to Port Royale. "They knew it'd embarrass you, and goin' to a pirate, on top of 'Lizbeth turning you away." He trailed off at the hurt expression in Will's eyes. He felt like a heel for bringing her up. "I'm sorry."

"No." Will dropped his eyes and shook his head. "It's just what is."

He had no other means of making the smith feel better, and had been drinking too much to think things through first. "Will." He scooted closer, sliding a hand up against his jaw. "There'll be others for you. Chasin' you down, as many as you can handle, savvy?"

Will lifted his head, and Jack was inches from wide, deep hazel eyes. "There'll be others," Jack repeated, leaning forward.

He expected to be pushed back, thrown across the deck. He didn't expect lips to shyly part beneath his, Will's head to tilt, his own mouth to be able to fasten onto the man's full lower lip. He slid his hand back into soft, tight curls, righting his head enough so their noses bumped, and warm breath skittered along his moustache. Jack drew away, surprised by his own actions, floored by the odd nutmeg taste of Will. Desire flared in his belly, ache burned within his chest, and when he went back in, he was met by an eager mouth and tongue and hands closing around his upper arms.

Jack had no clue where he ended and Will began. The smith was making the loveliest small noises at the back of his throat, and Jack wanted to dive in and nibble from the inside out. He lost all sense of who and where he was—all he knew was the smoke and sweaty scent of Will, the pleasant salt of his lips, the feel of thick waves bunched beneath his fingertips. "You taste wonderful," he managed between kisses.

"You taste like rum." The unexpected heat in Will's ragged voice pricked Jack's spine.

"Imagine that." Will laughed, kissing the corner of his mouth, and Jack's eyelids fluttered, his stomach tightening with the tender gesture. "We should—"

Two voices floated up from the side of the ship, and Will pulled away, yanking his head from Jack's hand. He was disheveled, hair tangled, eyes wide in surprise, lips parted and softly swollen from kissing; Jack had never wanted to bed anyone more in his entire life. "Will—"

"I need to get some work done." He was on his feet, nearly stumbling backwards in his hurry to get away.

Jack started to ask him to stop, to apologize, anything, but Will kept moving, surprise or panic in his eyes. Forcing himself to turn away, Jack looked back out over the water, letting the blacksmith escape with some dignity. The man's footsteps were well out of range before the first laughing sailor appeared over the railing, and it was all Jack could do not to throw something heavy and blunt—or launch himself—at the offending crewmen returning for night watch.

Don't say it he warned his dead, long-silent friend, as he fell back against the coil of rope again, groaning. Just... don't, Bill, dammit. He should've known better, after all. A few pints of ale notwithstanding, it was a stupid thing to do.

At least, he thought bleakly as he sprawled beneath the stars, at least I'm finally free of this.

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